The planet—as yet unnamed—had been surveyed by the spotting cruiser and pronounced suitable for colonization to nine-point-oh on a scale of ten. Of course, the nine-point figure was really only a pro tem rating. The cruiser hadn't been able to conduct a personal survey. That more difficult undertaking would fall to the lot of the pre-col crew.

By the time the balance of the colonists arrived, in forty-five days, the survey party would have to have the initial focal point ready for occupancy, and be in a position to supply all the data the colony would need for survival.

It was the biological team's specific job not only to classify the flora and fauna of the planet, but to determine the adaptability of the colonists to all existing conditions. Bradshaw might have encountered something which would have helped tremendously with the latter category. But it was obvious he wouldn't be able to tell anyone about it.

However, an isolated tragic incident which held no bearing on the success or failure of the colony could not be allowed to interrupt the survey. Gallifa impatiently dismissed the gentle nagging at the back of his mind and returned to the compound. By 1300, Solar Time, the camp was considered to be on a standard operating basis.

Gallifa pressed young Samuels into service and finished loading the halftrack. While they were waiting for MacFarland, senior geologist and acting executive of the camp, the natives of the planet appeared.

Gallifa saw them first, and more from surprise than fear hopped to the platform beside the truck seat and swiveled the automatic pellet rifle until the muzzle covered the visitors.

"Samuels," he called softly. "Hey, Samuels, we have a welcoming committee."

Samuels stopped his work and peered over the back of the truck. He was well trained. He didn't move an inch.

"Are they intelligent?" he asked. His view was curtailed slightly by a tool box.

"I can't tell," Gallifa said quietly. "They're clannish, though. There must be fifteen, maybe twenty, in the group. Climb over the back of the truck and take a look," he suggested.

Samuels vaulted lightly into the truck.

Gallifa looked quizzically at his aide. "Well, what do you make of them?" he asked. "Do you think they could have anything to do with Bradshaw's sudden crackup?"

Samuels removed his hat and ran stubby fingers through his blond, short-cropped hair. "It's hard to tell," he answered. "But they sure look harmless to me. In fact, they look somewhat like a bunch of Celtic little people."

Gallifa frowned. He didn't understand.

"You know," Samuels grinned. "Gnomes or elves with big ears. Large dwarf model."

Gallifa turned his attention back to the visitors and laughed. "I see what you mean," he agreed. "Ears and all. They do seem harmless. But it's strange they aren't upset by us. They could be semi-intelligent."

Gallifa stepped gingerly from the truck. He really didn't expect to find a modicum of intelligence. The spotting cruiser had orbited around the planet for more than seventy-two hours before the crew had been deposited, and had almost definitely established the contrary.

On every Earth-type planet that had ever been discovered, if there were intelligent life it had developed according to water-oxygen evolution; and the culture invariably parallelled homo sapiens. It was as if a busy and preoccupied nature had hit upon a pattern which worked and never bothered to change the mold. There were minor deviations, of course, biologically and structurally, but never culture-wise.

The swift, but amazingly discerning survey, had revealed absolutely no evidence of any intelligence on the planet. There were no artifacts, dwellings, roads, dams, bridges—primitive or otherwise. Any stage of culture would have been observed by the cruiser immediately. The planet seemed ideally suited to colonization.

Gallifa, the trained biologist, carefully studied the creatures. The dwarf-like gnomes, as Samuels had dubbed them, might be considered caricatures of humanity.

They were about four feet high—bipeds, and covered with a soft, pinkish fur. They walked erect; normally so, Gallifa could tell, because their upper limbs were too short for knuckling and were not jointed correctly for moving on all fours. They had five digited limbs, both upper and lower, just as did all higher life forms ever discovered on any planet. Their features were without hair and of a fairy story-humanoid type. With their large, floppy ears, and round-solemn eyes they were very unusual gnomes indeed.

Gallifa spoke to them quietly, trying a few standard low-order communication and classification tricks. The visitors—somehow he couldn't think of them as base animals—made no response. They didn't quite seem to fit any classification niche. The creatures faintly puzzled Gallifa. The best he could do was: Low order intelligence and probably harmless. Cultural development, nil.

As if to prove his rationalizations, the creatures suddenly seemed to ignore the humans. They walked unconcernedly past the truck and attacked the vegetation on the edge of the clearing. Every so often one would overturn a small rock and grub for the exposed insects.

Gallifa observed their broad, dull teeth. They weren't, he decided, omnivorous.

Samuels interrupted his train of thought. "Do you think they will give us any trouble?" he asked.

"No," Gallifa affirmed slowly. "Not materially, anyway. But it's going to be interesting, and a little difficult, to study this species. They don't seem to be ecologically feasible. Look at them. They are small and weak. They don't have claws, not even sheathed—and they are definitely too low in the evolutionary scale to know anything of weapons. Their feet obviously aren't constructed for climbing, and their limbs are too short and aren't planned right for running."

He removed his hat and scratched his head. "In short," he finished, "they are an unprotected species, obviously unable to protect themselves."

"That's odd enough," Samuels agreed. "But maybe they don't need protection. Maybe they don't have any natural enemies."

"On a raw planet?" Gallifa retorted. "That's not very likely."

"Perhaps I can catch a few for the lab," Samuels suggested. "I'll work up a behavior pattern analysis."

"That shouldn't be too hard," Gallifa said. "They certainly aren't afraid of us. You do that," he added suddenly. "I'm going to pick up Mac and be on my way. Otherwise, we'll never get out of here."

"Good hunting," Samuels said. "I'll have a couple of these fat little specimens neatly catalogued for you when you get back."

Gallifa laughed and headed the truck across the compound.

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